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BAS’ THERES 


A Narrative-Drama of Tirol 


BY 




JEAN PORTER RUDD 


Author of “ The Tower of the Old Schloss,’* “ The Little Tailor of the Ritten,” 
“ In a Field of Buckwheat,” etc. 





THE BULLETIN PRESS 

Norwich, Conn. 

1897 










57902 


Copyright, 1897 


THE AUTHOR 


9^14-#. 






A ^vwvcA;^ tcyvY^ 


All rights reserved, including those of 
translation and dramatization. 


This book is copyrighted in foreign countries 
in accordance with the provisions of their laws 
and of the International Copyright Law. 


✓ 



I believe in holiness^ truth and beauty ; I believe in 
love^ devotion^ honour; I believe in duty and the moral 
conscience. I believe in the fundamental intuitions of the 
human race^ and in the great affirmations of the inspired 
of all ages. I believe that out higher nature is our true 


nature. 


— Amiel. 


PLACE 


A Mountain Village of Tirol 


SCENE 

The White Horse Inn 


CHARACTERS 

Bas' Theres — Sister to the Wirth and Mistress of the White 
Horse Inn 

Bas’ is a title applied to elderly women in Tirol very much as is “ Cousin ” or 
“Auntie” in our own rural districts 


Nannele — Daughter to the Wirth 

\ 

The Wirth — Mine Host of the White Horse Inn 

The inn-keeper is the magnate of a Tirolean village. First in wealth, in 
power, in authority ; always an autocrat, sometimes a despot 

Petrus — Son to Bas’ Theres 

An idle, drinking fellow 

Herr Walter — The Stranger out of Steiermarkt 
Villagers, dancers, rustic fiddlers and others 


I 


The Coming of the Stranger — the Stranger Out of Steiermarkt 


II 

Bas’ Theres Bares Her Heart to the Stranger 


/// 

The Wirth Will Not Go Against Bas’ Theres 


IV 

Thou and I Will Wed One Day ; It Is the Will of Bas’ Theres” 


V 

A Folk-dance in the Stube 


VI 


*‘Na One of Ye Need Go Against Bas’ Theres 


FORE-WORD 


My story is the story of an old woman — a plain, 
homely, commonplace old woman, such as there are 
hundreds of, all about us, everywhere. My old 
woman had a heart, as most of us have. And she 
had set her heart on something, as most of us do. 
And the story tells about it. 


BAS’ THERES 


I 


The Coming of the Stranger — the Stranger Out 
of Steiermarkt 

J T could not have been later than four of the after- 
noon that Herr Walter came swinging up the 
long steep pitch ot hill road to the White Horse inn ; 
and laughing as he came. 

He was somewhat dusty and travel-stained, as a 
man might well be after six days afoot in the Higher 
Alps, with night halts wheresoever night overtook 
him. But he was quite unable to see why, for the 
mere matter of a little dust more or less, he should 
be fallen upon to be made game of. 

Another man, or he perhaps, had he come on 
another errand, might have angered himself might- 


8 


BAS^ THERES 


ily over the unmannerly antics of the village chil- 
dren. For upon his entry to the hamlet a score or 
more of troublesome young cubs (and there were 
girls among them) beset him with scoffs and jibes ; 
and began dancing and careering about him as 
though his like had never been to be seen before. 

But Herr Walter had his purpose warm to his 
heart and a hope that is apt to keep smiles alive on 
the lips. So he laughed. 

All along his way they followed him. Past the 
scattering farm-cotes and the close-clustered roofs 
of the village ; under the eaves of the motherly old 
church and even to the very out-spur of the inn 
itself they came trailing at his heels, hooting and 
jeering and pointing their fingers at him. 

“What is’t then, ye rascalings?” he demanded. 
“ Is’t that ye ha’ never seen a thing that looks like a 
man before.” 

“Outlander! Outlander! ” they shouted, and point- 
ed their fingers lower down toward his knees. 

'^Donner-wetter / ” he ejaculated : then stopped short 


BAS' THERES 


9 


and deliberately looked himself over to try and 
discover what was wrong. For it would never do to 
present himself like a guy at the inn. He knew he 
had neither a hump between his shoulders nor a 
limp in his gait ; and on the whole he supposed he 
had reason to consider himself a rather well set 
up young fellow. His dress, too, though a trifle 
weather-stained, was not very unlike the usual cos- 
tume of Tiroler men. Like them, he wore a jacket 
of Alpine Loden, cut off so short in the waist behind 
that the funny little coat-tails bobbed out from under 
his shoulder-blades just at the points where wings 
ought to grow. Surely, he did not the less resemble 
his fellowmen in that, as yet, his wings were still 
invisible. 

His knee-breeches, like theirs, were of blackened 
chamois leather and, like theirs again, were the 
coarse hand-knitted leggins of wool that reached to 
his ankles. But between the leggins and the breech- 
es, just where a Tiroler’s legs are bare — brown and 
knotted too like old mahogony — under-drawers of 


10 


BAS* THERES 


white linen bulged out in wide snowy puffs which, to 
speak truth, were the pride of his heart. In walking, 
he liked to feel them pull taut when the muscles of 
his foreleg straightened and flop about loosely again 
as they relaxed. And now, it seemed, it was at these 
very knee-puffs that the younkers jeered. 

Herr Walter threw back his head and sent a ring- 
ing Jodel echoing through the air. How I wish, just 
here, that I could Jodel for you and show you how the 
voice breaks from the deepest of chest tones into 
shrillest head tones and back again, with amazing 
rapidity ; yet, oh, so musically. Then how the tones 
are caught up, echoing and reverberating from the 
hill-sides until you might almost think that a hun- 
dred merry men, with twice a hundred merry voices, 
were jodeling in reply. To Herr Walter’s back was 
strapped a huntsman’s Rucksack and in his right hand 
he carried a stout ash stick feruled with a long iron 
spike. The stick was notched full half its length in 
record of many a daring climb over snow-drifted 
glaciers, or down into yawning ice-green crevasses, 


BAS' THERES 


II 


where the iron spike, sharpened to a needle point, 
had served him well. One date, deeper cut than any 
other, bore proud witness that Herr Walter had been 
the first to scale an hitherto unsealed peak ; and 
there upon the tipmost top, where earth and heaven 
meet, that it had been his right, as victor, to plant 
the giant wooden cross which marks a summit. 

Altogether, he did not look the sort of man to be 
easily vanquished. 

Suddenly he turned, charged with his Alpenstock, 
bayonet-wise, and made a feint of pricking the ring- 
leader with the point of the spike. But when in- 
stantly his small tormentors broke ranks and fled 
for their lives ; shrieking, and tumbling over one 
another as they ran, he waved the heavy ash pole 
twice or thrice above his head, as though it were the 
merest feather-weight, and went on. After this, 
they did not dare venture quite within sweep of the 
pole but followed at a wary distance, watching him 
as he stalked along with never a backward glance 
toward them, though now and then he lightly swung 


12 


BAS' THERES 


his Alpenstock in a remindsome sort of way which 
sent them shrieking. 

It was surprising how their courage revived as the 
distance increased. But tongue bravery is cheap 
and soon again rang out the jeering cries : 

Outlander ! Outlander ! Hei^ what’s the matter 
with his legs.” 

The huge double doors of the inn, standing open, 
gave flush upon the cool flagged court of the ground 
floor. Underneath, as Herr Walter knew, were sure 
to be deep wine vaults and amply stored cellars and 
winding mysterious catacombs leading, not to the 
glories of martyrdom but to mundane treasures of 
good cheer. Above the wide- flung doors and thrust- 
ing itself out from the body of the building like a 
vigorous after-thought, projected the bulging bow- 
window of the Stube. Now the Stube (being inter- 
preted) is the very heart of a Tirolean inn ; the one 
great living room where all the life of the inn goes 
on — and great part of the village life too, for that 
matter. 


BAS^ THEBES 


13 


To the Stude, accordingly, was Herr Walter bound j 
and he would naturally have made his way to it by 
the inner staircase except that he chanced to see, 
stretching out along the terraced side-hill to the left, 
a most inviting strip of garden, all set about with 
cosy coffee-tables and shaded by trellised vines. 
The garden was approached from the road by a long 
flight of outside steps and at the top of these steps a 
woman was standing. 

The woman was Bas’ Theres. 

Hers was a stout and sturdy figure, commonplace 
enough, in Kirtel of homespun and working apron of 
blue jean. One gay-plaided kerchief was pinned 
across her breast and another of duller hue folded, 
shawl-wise, over her head. Under it, one could see 
that the hair was already graying ; too early, per- 
haps. Furrowed deep into the forehead were the 
fine close lines which come of care; but the eyes 
were blue-bright as a girl’s and though sharp (and 
flinchsome to meet if you were in the wrong), they 
yet were not unkindly. One hand now gripped the 


^4 


BAS' THERES 


stair-rail — the story of her life was all in that 
grip — the other was lifted to shield her eyes from 
the straight level beams of the westering sun. 

“ A stranger,” she said to herself, as she watched 
Herr Walter come swinging up the road. 

A stranger. And from out Steiermarkt. I know 
it of him by his knee-puffs. Hei, hei^ there. Scatter, 
ye little scamplings,” she called out, instinctively, 
though the children were not within hearing. 

“ Away with ye. Away now. Canna ye let a man 
enter the land in peace ? ” 

On the farther hill slopes cattle were grazing and 
the gentle ting-a-ling-a-lingle of their bells echoed 
softly over the meadows. In the fields the golden 
grain was ripening. Near by, from the barn, behind 
which the lad Petrus was shirking as only he could 
shirk, came the thud of the busy hand-flails, mingled 
with men’s voices. And nearer still, on the ledge of 
the water-trough by the roadside, Nannele’s earthen 
milk pans were reflecting the sunlight from their 
green and yellow glaze. 


BAS' THERES 


15 


But in that moment the homely farm-day sights 
and sounds were all forgotten in the stir of some 
deeper memory and the keen blue eyes saddened. 

“ Holy Mother of Sorrows,” breathed Bas’ Theres. 
‘‘ Who but I, ah me, should know a Steier man.” 

“Good day to ye, Frau Wirthin,” called Herr 
Walter just then from below. As he came bound- 
ing up the stair, two steps at a time and paused 
a step or two from the top, he lifted his cap and 
said again : 

“Good day to ye, Frau Wirthin.” 

“Wdr, na” she instantly protested. And she must 
have been answering him out of her reverie for the 
protest was wholly uncalled for. 

“Not the Frau Wirthin. Na^ na. Only Bas’ 
Theres. Sister to the Wirth am I ; not wife. All the 
folk hereabout, and everywhere, call me Bas’ Theres. 
It is good enough for me. Ye may call me it too, 
if ye like. Ja^ and whether ye like, or na. Call me 
Bas’ Theres.” 

His wide-eyed stare of surprise recalled her to her- 


j6 


BAS* THERES 


self and, bustling to one side that he might pass, she 
made haste to speak more graciously. 

“Walk up, Herr Stranger. Walk up. And take 
ye’r choice of a table. What will ye ha’ to eat? 
Something hearty; nit wahrt For I can see that 
ye ha’ come a far tramp.” 

“ Ja 7vohl, that I have. Over the hills from Steier- 
markt. ’Tis a good six days’ tramp, I’d ha’ ye to 
know. But hei^ ’tis naught to me. For, look here,’" 
and he pointed with pardonable pride to the notches 
in his Alpenstock. 

“ Good, good,” she assented, nodding her head in 
appreciation. “Ye ha’ no need to tell me, ye’re a bold 
mountaineer. One always knows that kind by the 
look of them. Ye are right welcome, Herr Stranger. 
And now, what shall I bring ye? A Schnitzel^ 
mayhap ; ja>** 

Herr Walter rested his Alpenstock in the angle of 
the house-wall, slipped the leathern bands of the 
Rucksack off his shoulders and, throwing himself on 
the nearest bench, leaned his elbows on the table 


£AS^ THERES 


17 


before him, stretched his long be-puffed legs under it, 
and yawned. Meantime, Bas’ Theres waited with 
the stolid patience of a sphinx. 

“What gives to-day in the larder?” he asked. 
“Something ready cooked, I hope. Oh, bring me 
anything ye like, my good woman. Only briiig it 
quickly. For I have a hunger that gnaws in me.” 

“ I’ll send the Madl” answered Bas’ Theres, as she 
hastily disappeared through a wide doorway into the 
great Gasthaus kitchen. 

Herr Walter yawned again and stretched himself. 
Then he rose and, walking to the far end of the 
garden path, stood looking oif over a charming 
expanse of fertile valley, threaded by a gurgling 
little mountain torrent and hemmed in by towering 
Alps. There was a pleased half-expectant look in 
his eyes and when he saw the Wirth’s daughter 
emerging from the kitchen doorway with a trayful 
of plates and glasses — he must have been watching 
out for her through the back of his head — an irre- 
pressible smile spread itself all over his face. 


iS 


BAS' THERES 


— Du?” she cried, almost dropping her tray 
as he came striding back down the path to meet her 
“ Art glad to see me, Nannele ? Art glad ? Didna 
I tell thee I would surely follow thee one day ? ” 
Nannele laughed. 

“I thought thou would’st forget," she answered, 
shaking out the tablecloth with a little snap and 
beginning to lay the table. Hungrily his eyes 
followed her quick deft hands, for was there not a 
Schnitzel between two plates, hot-and-hot. Also a 
loaf of black bread and a measure of good red wine. 

“ I might ha’ thought thou had’st forgotten," she 
repeated with a coquettish toss of her head. “ 'Tis 
so many months ago." 

True," he assented slyly. “ ’Tis a long, long time. 
Well nigh a half year ; ja ? But, Nannele, say. Dost 
remember our pretty dance together that night at 
the Stern inn ? I mind thy telling me then, thou 
wert never so far from home before." 

“ Never," she answered. “ The father goes abroad 
but rarely. Even then he didna go willingly, but 


BAS' THERES 


^9 


Bas* Theres made him. She said he must take me 
once among my mother’s people. That it war only 
right they should make acquaintance with me. My 
mother has been dead these many years, but she war 
near kins-woman to the Stern Wirth of Stadl. Thus 
it war that we went into Steiermarkt.” 

“ And a rare evening for me when I saw thee first, 
Nannele,” laughed Herr Walter, making rapid play 
all the while with his knife and fork. “For what 
have I come then, think? Ach^ Mad/, I’l tell thee 
to-night when all is still and the stars are a-shining.” 

Lifting his wine glass toward her and bowing 
gallantly, he added : 

“ Mayhap, thou’lt ha’ somewhat to answer to me, 
Nannele ? ” 

But she stood before him shyly, crimping the hem 
of her apron between her fingers and with her head 
half turned away. 

“ i—i do na know,” she answered. 

“ Hei, what is this ? Thou dost na know ? ” and he 
laughed once more in easy confidence. “ Did I hear 


20 


BAS' THERES 


thee a-right, MadU Thou dost na know ? Well, 
well, never mind.” 

He stopped to cut himself a huge wedge of black 
bread before he asked : 

“When can I speak with thy father, the Wirth ?” 

“ Always, after nightfall, it is my father’s custom 
to smoke in the Stube window,” she answered, 
stiffly. ^ 

“ But to-night is a festa. There are people coming 
to dance.” 

“Good. I’m glad of it,” he cried gaily. “That is 
fine. We’l dance our courting dance all over again, 
Madl. Nit wahr ? ’ ’ 

But now the girl’s unwonted shyness was gone 
and as he put out his hand to her she drew back, 
letting her apron fall. 

“There are many lads who beg me for dances,” 
she teased. “And I — I ha’ promised them all.” 

Pulling a small tobacco pouch from the depths of 
some pocket he began, leisurely enough, to fill his 
pipe. But as he sat, jamming the tip of his fore- 


BAS' THERES 


21 


finger hard down into the bowl, he would not look 
at her nor speak. 

“ There are many lads,” she repeated, touching a 
lighted match to his pipe and flicking the burnt end 
into the air. 

“Until I promised them, they wouldna give me 
any peace.” 

“Thou had’st na right,” growled Herr Walter 
between quick fierce pulls at the pipe. 

“ Na right ? ” echoed Nannele in surprise. “ Sure- 
ly, it is I who ha’ the right to give my dances to 
whom I will. Have I na, my high-and^mighty 
Herr ? ” 

“yijj wohl, when thou wilt. What is it to me. And 
thy hand too, thou’lt soon be saying. Nit wahr ? ” 

“Oh, my hand— quite certainly,” she replied with 
a cool little stare. 

“ Unless,” she added, in a sudden pretense of 
timidity. “Unless Bas’ Theres take my right from 
me. And she will, if I canna stand up against her.” 

“ Bas’ Theres,” questioned Herr Walter. “ Who is 


22 


BAS' THERES 


Bas’ Theres ? Ach ja^ I remember. The old woman 
who war here just now. What has she to say about 
it ? Has she picked thee out a husband, already ? ” 

“yh, yh, long ago,” laughed Nannele. “Listen. 
It will be Petrus, her son.” 

Then with a sly glance to see how he would take 
it, she said : , 

“ Petrus vows that — that he loves me well.” 

“ Good ! And thou ? ” demanded Herr Walter,, 
clouding himself in smoke. 

^'‘Ach^ ye see, I ha’ known him all my life. As 
babes, we slept in one cradle. Boy and girl, we 
dipped our porridge out of the same bowl. We ha” 
grown up side by side. Ha, we ha’ quarreled, too, 
and made it up again, more times than I can tell 
thee. And now, Petrus vows that na other Madt 
shall ever be his wife.” 

“ Good ! And thou ? ” persisted Herr Walter. 

He was so calm and his tone of voice so indiffer- 
ent that she began to fear he did not care. Coquet- 
ting was all very well, but — 


BAS* THEBES 


2S 

In a sudden quiver of feeling she dropped her 
eyes and the hot blood rushed to her cheeks. Man- 
like, the man misunderstood. Giving her a stern 
look, he took up his Rucksack and began to strap it 
over his shoulders, while he bit his pipe between his 
teeth. 

“ I’ll go,” he said. “ It seems, I ha' come on a 
fool’s tramp. There,” flinging some coins on the 
table, 

“ There’s for my reck’ning.’^ 

He reached out for his Alpenstock and stood 
savagely stamping the ground with each foot in turn, 
until the loose white linen knee-puffs, which were the 
pride of his heart, fell into place. 

Naughty Nannele took courage. 

“ I war going to say,” she began, edging between 
him and the stair and so blocking his way. 

“About Petrus, now. I — I hate him.” 

“Whew !” 

Herr Walter gave voice to a long low whistle and 
slowly seated himself at the table again. The girl’s 


24 


BAS' THERES 


eyes were sparkling with fun. But he only looked 
at her as though he had never seen her before and - 
never cared to see her again, pushed the wine 
measure toward her and said : 

“Draw me another pint, Madl." 

Nannele was bewildered and vexed. Why had she 
not let him go if he wanted to — this tall, masterful 
fellow who ordered her about so coolly. And whom 
she found she could not twist round her finger quite 
so easily as she twisted the gawky lads of the moun- 
tain-side. 

“ I ha’ made him stay, anyway,” she snickered, with 
a toss of her saucy head as, snatching the carafe, she 
whisked past him into the kitchen without even 
deigning to look at him. 

It was then that Herr Walter’s face broke into 
smiles. 

“ I may as well wait over the dance,” he said to 
himself. 

Down into the deep stone-paved vault where the 
girl knelt tapping the wine cask, followed Bas’ Theres. 


THERES 


25 

“ Nannele, I ha’ my eye on thee,” she said. “ Thou 
mak’st too free with this stranger lad. What is he 
to thee ? ” 

“Naught. Except that he is na stranger,” an- 
swered the girl as she replaced the plug and rose to 
her feet. 

“ Na stranger,” cried Bas’ Theres. “ Never has 
he been here before. This, I could swear. Where 
hast thou seen him then ? ” 

“ At the Stern inn of Stadl. Where thou thyself 
would’st have it that my father should take me, Bas’ 
Theres.” 

There was a defiant ring in Nannele’s voice and 
she stood with her clear blue eyes shining straight 
into the clear blue eyes of Bas’ Theres. Will opposed 
to will. 

cried Bas’ Theres, working her sinewy hands 
one in the other. “No good ever comes of gadding. 
But why is he here, Madl. PI na ha’ thee parley- 
vooing with stranger lads. Thou art bespoke.” 

Nannele threw back her head. As yet there were 


26 


BAS* THERES 


no fine furrows of care or sorrow in her young face, 
all aglow with Alpine freshness. 

“Bespoke I maybe, but na of my own will. Na 
promise have I yet given to any man.” 

“ Ach, child,” pleaded Bas’ Theres. “ Thou know- 
est it is but the one chance for Petrus. See how he 
vexes thy father, the Wirth.” 

“And indeed he is but a lazy Luttip,'* she com- 
mented under her breath. “Thy father has but 
scant patience with him. Na more ha’ I.” 

'‘^Ach so ! And because he is a ne’er-do-weel, is that 
any reason that I should spoil my life ? ” cried the 
girl hotly. 

Then because she was young and life had not yet 
hurt her and she could not know how cruel the 
words would sound, she added : 

“ Humph ! Thou’st nobody to blame but thyself, 
Bas’ Theres. He is thine own son and thou should’st 
ha’ brought him up better. But let me pass. The 
stranger waits all this time for his wine.” 

“’Tis I who will carry it to him,” exclaimed Bas’ 


BAS* THERES 


27 


Theres, snatching the carafe out of the girl’s hand. 

“Go thou to the fountain with thy water jugs. 
Then to the Stube. It must be swept ere to-night’s 
festa. After that, go to the kitchen to help the maids. 
ri keep thee busy, Madl. Too busy to parley- voo. 
Ja,ja^ I’l find thee a-plenty to do. Now go.” 

No one ever defied the will of Bas’ Theres except 
Nannele herself. Now, however, she only shrugged 
her shoulders, and went. 


II 


Bas* Theres Bares Her Heart to the Stranger 

^HE old inn was like a mediaeval castle with its 
gloomy passages, cavernous chambers, shadowy 
turns and niches. The deep windows were diamond- 
leaded, the low ceilings were supported on corner 
uprights crossed by heavy beams ; and there were 
crazy bits of nondescript architecture such as winding 
stairs, circular turrets and arched recesses, where 
ells and wings had been built on from time to time, 
haphazard, according to the needs, or the whims, of 
successive generations. 

And here had Bas’ Theres held sway this score of 
years and more. Through all the varying seasons 
her hand was ever to the fore in house, and field, and 
farm. She was out among the sowers and reapers ; 
in the hay-field, the cattle stalls, the mill. She over- 


BAS' THERES 


2 ^ 

looked the spinning, the weaving, the brewing ; and 
between-whiles, she was always stepping about after 
the kitchen maids, who never dared loiter nor shirk 
under the sharp eye and still sharper tongue of the 
Wirth’s sister. 

What the hub is to the wheel, was Bas’ Theres to 
her brother, the Wirth. He did all the revolving 
— and he did little else — but it was she who held the 
spokes firm in a riveted grip. And for years she had 
cherished but one ambition. Sleeping or waking, she 
had dreamed the one fair beautiful dream that daily 
strengthened her tireless hands. 

Now she muttered to herself : 

“ If I let her wed with the stranger, then my own 
poor lad will be sent adrift.” 

Herr Walter was smoking contentedly and waiting 
for his wine. When he heard a step approaching he 
thought it was Nannele’s and he did not turn. No,, 
he would let the saucy child be the first to speak. 
But when for a long time he waited and still no 
word was spoken, he slowly raised his head and en- 


30 


BAS' THERES 


countered the gaze of Bas’ Theres fixed intently 
upon him, 

^^Ach so, Bas’ Theres,” he said, pleasantly. “Ye 
will study me then, it seems.” 

“Ha’ ye come for our Nannele ? ” she demanded, 
bluntly. 

'■'‘Ja wohl, that I have,” he answered still pleasantly, 
but at the same time thrusting his square chin 
slightly forward in a queer little way he had. 

“ I ha’ come for Nannele. And I shallna go until 
I ha’ won her for my bride. That is, if I can win her.” 

“Then it is better that ye go again,” said Bas’ 
Theres. 

“ And wherefore } ” 

“Because ye shall never win her. The Wirth’s 
daughter isna to be lightly given to — to a stranger 
from no one knows where.” 

Herr Walter laughed, 

“ ri na go for that,” he cried gaily. “ The stranger 
from — Nowhere — will be able to satisfy the Wirth 
on that point, never fear.” 


J^AS' THERES 


“And am I then, nobody?” cried Bas’ Theres. 
“ I, who nursed her on my knees and rocked her to 
sleep in the same cradle with my own little one. 
Many is the hour I ha’ rocked the cradle with one 
foot, while I trod my wheel with the other, a-spinning 
the flax for their bridal linen. Ach, na-a, na-a^ lieber 
Herr, our Nannele isna for any stranger lad.” 

“What a pretty little JAz^fZ-babe she must ha’ 
been,” said Herr Walter with his ready smile, for her 
protest had not greatly impressed him. 

that she war,” answered Bas’ Theres, smiling 
also. “ And later a wild little maid, no less. Ach, 
the pains I ha’ taken with her, teaching her to spin, 
and to bake, and to cast up accounts. She does 
everything well. And I — I may take pride to 
myself.” 

“ Indeed ye may. And I thank ye a thousand 
times, Bas’ Theres. Ye ha’ trained a rare little 
wife— for me.” 

cried Bas’ Theres. “I’m na a fool. I 
ha’ na toiled and gone sleepless all these long years, 


32 


BAS' THERES 


to let it all come to naught. The Mad/ is bespoke. 
She weds 'with Petrus, my son.” 

Herr Walter laughed again ; a provoking cool 
little laugh. 

“A Mad/’s hand must go with her heart,” he said. 

“ Heart ? ” scoffed Bas’ Theres. “ As though the 
girl had a heart. She is hard to all the world.” 

“ S(?-a / Ach then, she but pleases me the better.” 

A grayness like the shadow of a storm-cloud fell 
over Bas’ Theres. She bent forward and leaned 
heavily with both hands against the table. For a 
moment her strength was gone. 

“Listen, J^nger Herr^'' she began. “I ha’ only 
the one son. His father war a lad from out Steier- 
markt. I liked him well, too well. And I left my 
home to go with him.” 

Sobs thickened her voice, but she went reso- 
lutely on. 

“ A day came when he left me ; me, and the babe. 
We were homeless, helpless, deserted. It war then 
that my brother, the Wirth, took us home. He has 


BAS' THERES 


33 


never let anyone speak aught against me. And he 
owed me nothing. I had had my portion. The lad 
from out Steiermarkt — he squandered it. I had na 
more claim in the house that had been my father’s. 
But the Wirth took us both home, me and the child. 
Oh, it all happened years ago. Petrus is a man now. 
And I — I ha’ never seen the lad who war his father 
since that day.” 

Herr Walter was puffing furiously at his pipe and 
scowling so that his eyebrows drew together. Bas’ 
Theres straightened herself and locked her hands, 
one in the other. 

“The Wirthin had just died,” she continued in 
calmer tones, “leaving the babe, Nannele. I reared 
her with my own boy. I vowed that Petrus should 
be to niy brother like to a son of his own ; and there- 
fore that he should marry the Madl. Thus the inn 
and the farms might be for them both ; these two 
children of the same blood. Why na } ” 

There was a pause during which Herr Walter did 
not attempt to speak. 


34 


BAS' THERES 


“ It is arranged between my brother and me. He 
consents. Nein^ he also wills it. We ha’ planned it 
together for years. Now, lieber Herr, ye see, do ye 
na, why I canna let a stranger lad come between ? ” 

Then squaring her shoulders and setting her hands 
firm on her hips, she ended : 
and I will na.” 

“I see it all,” said Herr Walter kindly. “Ye ha’ 
been a good mother to both the children, and — and 
ye ha’ had it hard. I’m sorry for ye, Bas’ Theres.” 

His words stung her. For a purpose only had she 
stooped to bare her proud heart to a stranger. 

“ How dare ye pity me ? ” she cried. “ I take na 
man’s pity for a gift. I — I am waiting to see ye go.” 

“ Then ye will wait,” he retorted. “ For it is only 
from the MadVs own lips that I will take my answer. 
It is she who shall give me the Yes, or the No. 
Not ye.” 

Like whipcords stood out the veins on her sinewy 
hands ; the blue eyes widened and glittered, as 
glitters the blue of burnished steel. 


BAS’ THERES 


35 


she repeated again and again. ^'‘Na-na. 

Na-naR 

“And the Wirth?” he asked. “Ye say, it is 
willingly that he gives his daughter to ye’r son 
—fa?” 

Bas’ Theres faltered. 

“We ha’ planned it together,” she asserted. 

“Rather,” he cried, “it is ye who ha’ planned it 
and he that willna oppose ye Isna it so ? Tell me 
the truth, Bas’ Theres.” 

She would not speak falsely, but the next words 
seemed wrung from her pallid lips. 

“ The Wirth says — my Petrus is too like — too like 
the lad — who war — his father.” 

Herr Walter sprang to his feet, and brought his 
cUnched fist down heavily on the table. 

“He is a Lu7?ip then, a false-hearted good-for- 
naught,” he cried indignantly. “ And is this ye’r 
love — ye’r mother-love — for the Madl-hQ.hQ ye 
reared ” 

Bas’ Theres stiffened. It was not his anger that 




BAS* THERES 


she feared, but again that strange grayness, the 
relentless shadow of her painful past, fell upon and 
veiled her. 

“There is other blood in his veins,” she muttered. 

“ He is my son, as well.” 

Herr Walter softened. 

“Look ye, Bas’ Theres,” he said. “I shallna give 
up, nor go away. Ye canna expect it of me. But 
let us make it thus. To-night, when the fesia is over 
and the dance is ended, let the Madl choose between 
ye’r son and me. Shall it be so ? ” 

Nein^ ndn** cried Bas’ Theres. “A Madl never 
knows what is for her own good. ’Tis her elders 
who must do the choosing for her. She’d be a’most 
sure to take up with the stranger. Any girl would.” 

And at this, over Herr Walter’s face spread, like a 
sunbeam, his sudden smile. 


Ill 


T'he Wirth Will Not Go Against Bas* Theres 

ALF an hour later, Herr Walter emerged from 
his chamber in the freshest of white linen knee- 
puffs and his best holiday suit. He had taken un- 
usual pains with his dressing ; brushing the last speck 
of imaginary dust from his crimson lapels, polishing 
his numberless chamois-horn buttons until the gelatin 
of them shone, drawing his knitted leggins taut and 
trim and, lastly, tying true-lover’s knots in the 
tasseled green-cord lacings of his leather breeches. 

Also, he had been laughing to himself, incessantly, 
though he could not have told you why. 

By the way, did you ever happen to notice a man in 
love ? How he laughs all the time and yet he does 
not know it. He laughs because he cannot help it, 
for laughing and loving go hand in hand. 


BAS^ THERES 


3 ^ 

When all was done, he tried to get a satisfactory- 
view of his entire figure in a little six-by-eleven 
shaving-glass, the only mirror that offered. First, he 
moved it from the bureau to the window-sill, then to 
a chair ; next, he held it in both hands, turning it this 
way and that to the light, while he craned his neck 
over one shoulder in a vain attempt to judge of the 
fit of his jacket. It was all of no use and, finally, 
shaking his head in acknowledged defeat, he set it on 
the floor and tried a waltz step in front of it. But 
this was scarcely satisfactory, either, as he could see 
only one of his boots at a time. 

Laughing still, he leisurely refilled his tobacco 
pouch from the ample store in his Rucksack^ and went 
whistling down the long flights of stairs and through 
the dusky corridors, in the hope that Nannele might 
hear him and come out from wherever she was 
hiding. But though he peered into every permissible 
corner and kept the whistle going bravely, he could 
not catch a glimpse of her ; and so, reaching the outer 
door, he started off on a stroll toward the village, to 


jBAS* therms 


39 


while away the time until the merry-makers should 
gather and the dancing begin. 

Besides, he had more than a half-intention of 
searching for the Wirth. 

Down the road he went and across the bridge, 
making a close circuit of the village and pushing on 
over the fields to the strip of woodland beyond ; then 
back, through the meadows along the edge of the 
water-conduit which led him, after many windings, 
to the mill-race and the mill. It was here that he 
found the old man, placidly leaning against a post 
and watching the continual splash-splash of the 
water as it was caught by the buckets and tossed 
high, to pour and tumble and feather over the old 
black water-wheel. 

“ Griiss Gott^ Herr Wirth,” ventured the young 
man. 

“ Griiss Gott,'" responded the other, Though ye’re 
a stranger to me. There’s a different cut to ye, 
someway, from my country-folk. Ye ha’ never been 
here before ; naV' 


40 


BAS' THERES 


And with a queer little inward chuckle he let his 
slow glance fall on the knee-puffs. 

“Yet we ha’ met once,” answered Herr Walter. 
“I knew ye just now, the minute I saw ye. It war 
at the Stern-Wirth’s, in Stadl of Steiermarkt. Now, 
do ye remember? Also, how I danced the whole 
festa through with ye’r daughter.” 

wohl^" snickered the Wirth. “ I doubt it na. 
All the lads are for a-dancing with my Nannerl. 
She has hard work to choose among them ; and she 
makes them march. So-a^ so-a, ye come out of Stadl : 
ja7 Mayhap ye are making a journey for to see the 
world ? ” 

“ Hm-m, I ha’ my purpose in coming,” replied Herr 
Walter. “But I confess, it must hang somewhat 
upon ye’r own, Herr Wirth.” 

Hd, and how may that be ?” queried the Wirth. 
“If ye ha’ come after farmlands, or cattle, ye’l na 
find any here. I’d na sell a rood of my land. May- 
hap, though, if ye’re selling instead, I might buy a 
horse or two. Mayhap^ I say. Mind ye, 7?iayhap. I 


BAS' THEBES 




do my trading mostly on market-days. It is then I 
can get my pick of the whole mountain-side. See ? ” 

It is never very easy to ask an unsuspecting man 
for his daughter : certainly not in broad daylight, 
when his mind is absorbed in practical matters. For 
an instant, Herr Walter lost his air of ready self- 
confidence. 

“ Look ye, Herr Wirth,” he blurted out. “ ’Tisna 
about horses. I’m looking for a wife and my choice 
lights on ye’r Nannele. That is why I ha’ come up 
into ye’r hills.” 

^^Ach so-a^" cried the old man, grinning. “ Let us 
make a walk over the fields together and ye shall 
tell me all about it. What is this? Ye ha’ danced 
with my daughter once — only once, is it na ? And 
now, ye will ask her to wife ? Hei^ but this is curious. 
Reminds me of when I war young. It goes quickly : 
nit wahr ? ” 

“If ye like,” said Herr Walter, recovering his 
dignity. “We danced together that night at the 
Stern inn and I said to myself then : ‘ some day, 


42 


BAS^ THERES 


when the right day comes, it is this Madl I shall ask 
to marry me.’ And — well, now I am here.” 

The Wirth was a little round man whose head 
barely reached to Herr Walter’s shoulder. As he 
twisted his neck to look up into the other’s face, his. 
eyes twinkled. 

^‘yh,yh,” he chuckled. “That is always the way 
with the younglings. Ye think there is a need to 
hurry.” 

“I told Nannele I should come for her one day,” 
pursued Herr Walter, “but she only laughed. Most 
likely she thought I war fooling. I couldna say any 
more then, for I had na roof of my owm ; and I’m na 
the man to come wooing a Wirth’s daughter, while 
yet my hands are empty.” 

“ It is different now,” he finished proudly. “ I 
war heir to my mother’s brother and he died one 
month ago. Herr Wirth, I am Hof -Bauer in Stadl, 
with farmlands as broad as ye’r own.” 

Steadily over the Wirth’s jolly round face a troubled 
look had been creeping and now there was a per- 


BAS’ THERES 


43 


ceptible lengthening of the lines from his little red 
nose to his chin. 

“ I ha’ brought letters from our parish priest and 
from the Stern- Wirth himself,” continued Herr 
Walter, shoving a packet of papers into the old man’s 
reluctant hand. . “ It is these that are to speak for 
me.” 

wohl^ ja wohl’’ muttered the Wirth, holding 
the papers at arms’ length and squinting at them. 

“y? wohl^ they speak well of ye. ^ Hof -Bauer’ hm-m ! 
‘Farm, the envy of the country-side;’ ‘money laid 
by ; ’ ‘steady, honest, temperate,’ ” 

“ More’s the pity,” he ended abruptly. “ It will be 
but the harder to send ye away. Nein! Ye canna 
have her.” 

Herr Walter stared. The two had been walking 
side by side : they turned now and faced each other. 

“ I do na like it,” broke out the Wirth, peevishly. 
I’m na used to — to settling things. Bas’ Theres al- 
ways does that, for us all.” 

Then with a sudden sharp glance : 


44 


BAS* THERES 


“Why need ye be a-coming after my Nannerl? 
Are there na pretty maids enough in all Steier- 
markt ? ” 

Herr Walter laughed. 

“ Na prettier in the world,” he exclaimed, loyally. 

But na one of them for me. My mind is fixed.” 

“ Nannerl is young. She has na need to be think- 
ing about marriage ; — na yet. She is my only child, 
and I ha’ bred her to be the comfort of my old age. 
She is all that is left to me. Na^ na, I canna send 
her away.” 

“ True,” assented Herr Walter, as they walked on 
again. “ But one day she will surely marry. All 
girls do. Ye — ye wouldna say she should never 
marry, Herr Wirth ? ” 

not so,’" answered the Wirth, thrusting his 
pudgy hands down deep into his pockets. “ She 
may wed as soon as she will and yet bide at home. 
Hook ye, I will give my Nannerl to the son of 
Bas’ Theres. She has known trouble, has Bas’ 
Theres ; sore trouble, and her heart is set on this. 


BAS* THERES 


45 


Na^ na^ it isna I who will go against Bas’ Theres." 

With an impatient kick Herr Walter drove his. 
boot-heel deep into the tender grass. 

“ She’s a good woman, is Bas’ Theres — a very^ 
good woman. She has doubled the worth of the 
farm. And she has made the old inn to be known far 
and wide. I should never ha’ got on so well but for 
her and I might ha’ muddled it all. Now, her lad 
mustnabe turned adrift.” 

“yiz, Herr Stranger, I ha’ thought it all out. The 
Madl must wed with Petrus. There is na other 
way.” 

“And this Petrus ? ” asked Herr Walter, craftily,. 
“ Is he a good lad ? Ye can trust him ; ja ? ” 

The round chubby cheeks drooped once more. 

“ I’m hoping he’l steady a bit,” came the slow 
reply. “ There is naught like marriage to steady a 
lad. Ja, ja, as the years go on he will steady 
himself, of course he will. As yet he is only a lad.” 

Then with a sudden fierce passion like the gleam 
of long-smouldering fire, he burst out : 


46 


BAS* THERES 


*‘Ach, I could ha’ killed the lad that ruined Bas’ 
Theres.” 

cried Herr Walter. “And yet ye will 
stand by and see the heart of ye’r own Mad/ broken 
and say never a word.” 

The Wirth stopped short in a shock of surprise. 

*'dVa~a, na-a, that will I na. If the Madl wed na 
willingly, she shallna wed at all.” 

“ Not even for Bas’ Theres ? ” 

“Wd!, not even— for — Bas’ Theres.” 

“ Good ! Then there is hope for me. Tell me 
this, Herr Wirth. Between Petrus and me, will ye 
permit the Madl to choose ? ” 

*'Nein^ that will I na. ’Twouldna be fair to Petrus. 
Girls are always taken with a new face. The silly 
thing might choose for ye and then, hei^ the mis- 
chief war done.” 

Again over Herr Walter’s face spread his sunniest 
smile. 

“Ye are over tender of the lad, it seems to me,” he 
said, lightly. 


£AS* THERES 


47 


“Not of the lad, na, na” answered the old man. 
“But of his mother. She has had trouble enough. 
Why then, should I turn her boy adrift ? ” 

“ Not adrift, J\7etn. Ye say Bas’ Theres has doubled 
the worth of the farm. Give him a bit of land then. 
And a few score florins to start him fair.” 

But at this the Wirth’s little fat features swamped 
themselves in laughter. 

“Florins to Petrus,” he cried. “Florins to that 
spendthrift lad. Not if I know it. Florins do na 
come so easy. And a bit of farmland, ye say? 
Humph ! Where would it be next harvest-time ? 
Tell me that. Give money and lands to Petrus. 
Hei, heiy it is all ye know.” 

“ And yet, ye will give him ye’r daughter ? ” 

“y^, that is different. Petrus would then be 
Wirth, after me. He’d ha’ naught to do, or a’most 
naught. Nannerl would manage it all. And she’d 
keep a tight hold of the purse-strings, would little 
Nannerl. Ja, ja^ Bas’ Theres will ha’ taught her 
that.*" 


48 


BAS' THEBES 


Drawing out his loose baggy pockets and shaking 
them ruefully, he added with a merry wink : 

“ Empty, see ? Do you think I do na know how 
it would fare with Petrus ? " 

But the next moment he laid his hand on the 
stranger’s arm and said, gravely : 

Give it up, Junger Herr. Give it up, for it can 
never be as ye wish. Look ye, Bas’ Theres had a 
trouble in her youth. And it is na I — not I — who will 
bring a sorrow to her old age.” 

And so saying, the Wirth turned short off at a 
cross-path, leaving Herr Walter to find his way back 
to the inn in whatsoever state of mind it might 
please him. 

It was dusk and the twilight shadows lay deep and 
still in front of the wide-yawning doors of the inn, 
near which Herr Walter lingered on the possible 
chance of waylaying Nannele and getting a word 
with her before the dance should begin. For, 

“ It all hangs now on the will of the Madl herself,” 
he kept repeating over and over. 


BAS' THERES 


49 


At last he heard her come running and clattering 
down the long stairs from the upper garden, letting 
her water-jars bump heedlessly against the rail at 
every step. He knew it was Nannele, because she 
was singing a little catch-y chorus of the mountain- 
side which she had tried to teach him that night at 
the Stern inn. He recalled how he had purposely 
been rather stupid about it, so that she must needs 
sing it to him over and over again ; and how he had 
kept her apart from the dancers until he learned 
it — by heart. Now, as she crossed the road to the 
water-trough and slipped her jars under the foun- 
tain, he followed her, calling softly : 

“Nannele, Nannele, art there?” 

And forgetting that she still knew nothing of what 
his mind was full, he leaned forward over the edge 
of the water-trough, to plead : 

“ Nannele, promise me now, right here, that 
to-night thou wilt choose for me.” 

She had not seen him and for an instant she was 
startled ; then she began to laugh. 


50 


BAS" THEBES 


Hei, art thou still here, Herr Stranger? I 
thought, mayhap, thou wast gone again to thy 
Steier country. Choose? What ha’ I to choose? 
I do na understand.” 

“ I ha’ spoken with the Wirth already, Nannele, 
and with Bas’ Theres. They are determined to 
marry thee to thy cousin. But to-night, after the 
dance, I shall ask thee of thy father. And it is then 
that thou must choose — between Petrus and me.” 

‘‘And why then must I choose to-night?” she 
demanded, haughtily. “ Or why must I choose at 
all ? Have I na a right to my own life ? And to 
do with it what I will ? ” 

‘‘ I — I will not be hurried so,” she added, with a 
tremulous break in her voice. 

‘‘It isna I who would hurry thee, Nannele,” he 
answered, gently. ‘‘ Only, ye see, I ha’ come as I 
said I would and now, if I’m sent away, they will 
marry thee to Petrus. They willna let thee have 
any choice.” 

There was silence, save for the splash of the water 


BAS' THERES 


5 ^ 


flowing over the brimming jars into the trough 
beneath. 

“ If thou choose for me, Nannele, thy father 
willna thwart thee. But thou needs be firm. 
Thou must pit thy will against the will of Bas* 
Theres.” 

“ Bas’ Theres has known naught save sorrow,” 
said the girl, thoughtfully. “ The lad she loved, 
broke her heart. The lad who is her son, breaks it 
now again. Jdyja^ I can see it, though she tries to 
hide it, even from herself.” 

“ Oh ! ” 

Herr Walter sighed. Certainly in all this, nothing 
was being made very easy for him. 

“ Her heart willna break the less, when thine 
shall ha’ broken too,” he answered, almost roughly. 

“Hearts,” she cried. ■ “Let us na talk of hearts. 
Ach, why should there come lovers. They are but 
tiresome folk. I ha’ always heard it and now I 
know. Let me pass, Herr Walter. I must dress for 
the dance.” 


THERES 


52 

She reached out for the water- jars but he laid his 
hands on them to detain her. 

“ Nannele,” he urged. “ Dost forget thy words in 
the Stern-Wirth’s Stube ? When I said I would surely 
follow thee one day, what said’st thou to me in 
return ? " 

“I said, *Come an thou wilt,”’ she laughed. 
“ What is it then to say : ‘ Come an thou wilt ; ’ I 
might say it to many a lad. Such light-spoken 
words do na bind.” 

Then in a strained voice : 

“ It is thou who art over-confident, Herr Stranger. 
’Tisna enough to stretch out thy finger, and beckon. 
Think’st, thou hast but to call, ‘ Nannele, Nannele,’ — 
and I’m to make answer ; * Ach, thank thee and 
thank thee a thousand times ? ’ Give me my water- 
jars. I’m tired of it all. Let me go.” 

That square chin of his had been thrusting itself 
forward and there was a gleam in his eyes ; but pres- 
ently the gleam changed to a smile. Perhaps, after 
all, he had been a little too impatient. 


BAS' THERES 


53 


“ Wohl^ wohl^ it shall be as ye say,” he replied, 
dropping the caressing “ I couldna stay now, 

after what ye ha’ said to me. Good-bye, Nannele.” 

“ Oh, are ye really going ? ” she faltered. “ Can ye 
na stay — well, over the dance.” 

“What’s the use?” he asked. “Ye ha’ promised 
all ye’r dances, ye say. I suppose now, ye couldna 
spare me — even one ? ” 

Nannele meant to refuse all other partners for him ; 
wickedly, she had looked forward to making the 
village lads jealous and the Mddchen envious. Now, 
though she could not help biting her lip in keen dis- 
appointment, she answered, in a tone that sounded 
more than half-reluctant : “ Mayhap I might — just 
one — since ye ha’ came so far.” 

“ I ask only one,” said Herr Walter. 

His voice was sad, but his eyes were twinkling and, 
in the friendly dark, he let that broad smile of his 
have its own way over his face. 

“ I ask only one. Petrus may have all the rest. 
I shall never come between ye and him, Nannele.” 


54 


BAS* THERES 


With this, he caught up the water- jars, one in each 
hand, and ran with them swiftly up the slope and 
through the garden to the open kitchen door, where 
one of the astonished maids took them from him. 


IV 


'"‘Thou and I Will Wed One Day ; It Is the Will 
of B as' Theres" 

gAS' THERES followed her brother, the Wirth, 
into the deep alcove of the Stube window, where 
he sat comfortably established for the evening in 
his elbow-chair, with pipe and tobacco-pouch on 
the table before him. 

Hast heard ? ” she began. “ The young stranger 
from out Steiermarkt is come a-courting our Nan- 
nele. Hast heard ? ” 

“yiz, ja^ I know. He spoke to me down by the 
mill. 'Tisna a bad chance, Bas' Theres. He showed 
me letters which tell of him. Look thee, he is Hof- 
Bauerj and a man of respect.” 

jich so-a. He is, is he?” she muttered ; and her 
heart turned sick. 


BAS' THERES 


5 ^ 


“And thou?” she demanded. “What hast thou 
answered him then ? Surely, thou wilt scarce give 
thy Madl to a stranger ? A man from another 
country?” 

Achy what is that? Doesna Steiermarkt join 
close to Tirol ? Country has naught to do with it. 
I tell thee, ’tis a rare chance for the Madl. I mis- 
doubt, shel ne’er have so good a one, ever again.” 

The woman’s breath came in quick catching gasps. 

“ And what hast thou answered him ? ” she asked 
once more. 

“ I said,” returned the Wirth, slowly. “ I said him, 
^ Ncin.' Though it hurt me sore to do it. I’l always 
believe our Nannele has missed of a rare good 
chance. But I said him, ^ Nein.' I — I wouldna go 
against thee, Bas’ Theres.” 

Kuss der Hand!" she exclaimed, as she drew a 
long breath of relief and her face cleared. 

“ Kiiss der Hand ! Thou wast ever a good brother 
to me. I might ha’ known thou would’st na fail me 
in this.” 


£AS* THERES 


57 


But there was still something in the expression of 
his face — or rather, perhaps, in the stolid^ want of 
expression— which impelled her to justify herself. 

Surely,’* she cried. “ It isna I, who would fail 
in good-will toward the Madl I reared. When then, 
hast thou ever seen me putting myself before her ; 
tell me that ? Hd Bruder, dost hear ? Tell me that.” 

“ I never said thou had’st na been a good mother 
to her,” he answered. 

“Also ! ” she went on, vehemently. “ There are two 
ways of looking at it. Think now a bit. This lad is 
unknown to us, nit wahrl Hof-Bauer he may be, 
and I care na what more besides, but a stranger is 
yet always a stranger. Though thou may’st know 
the worth of his farm, thou can’st na know his heart, 
nor his temper. Na^ na^ a Madl is better off among 
her own kin. Ach, do na I know ? And I’d say the 
same, Bruder^ if Petrus war already gone to the 
other side of the world.” 

Ach, thou’rt right, Bas’ Theres,” cried the Wirth, 
glad to bring his mind to a full stop. 


BAS' THERES 


5S 

“ ‘Tis well the Madl has thee, for thou’rt always 
right.” 

Later when, already flushed with wine, Petrus 
came slouching in at the open kitchen door, Bas’ 
Theres hastened forward to meet him and to draw 
him out of the circle of the fire-shine where the 
maids were busy, while she whispered : 

“ Petrus, I want thee to make thyself fine to-night^ 
in thy brave new jacket and hose. I ha’ laid them 
out for thee. And I ha’ polished the silver clasps of 
thy belt. Ach^ I ha’ taken great pains, for I will have 
thee the handsomest lad in the Stube to-night. And 
Petrus, for once let the Schnapps pass thee by ; ja f 
Thou’st been drinking red wine, more than enough. 
Give a care, or thou’lt na have a steady foot to the 
dance. Promise me, Petrus lad. Promise thine anx- 
ious old Miitterliy 

“ Oh, I promise,” he answered, indifferently. “ I 
ha’ promised thee oft-times before, M utter li ; nit 
wahr ? A promise is easy made.” And he laughed. 

“ But to-night of all nights, Petrus,” she urged. 


^AS' THERES 


59 


“ Thou can’st na tell how much may hang on it, just 
to-night. Listen. A stranger lad has come over the 
hills, a-courting our Nannele. He’s a right pretty 
lad, too. But mind well what I say and he will go 
again as rich as he comes ; and no richer.” 

“ A stranger lad ? And for Nannele ? Good ! Let 
him ha’ her then. I’d be glad if she war married 
and gone. I ha’ no leaning more toward the Wirth’s 
Mail. Acht I know well what thou would’st say, but 
I like her na. I ha’ done thy bidding. Mutter. Ja^ 
I ha’ done it more than once. But as often as I ask 
her, she scorns me and laughs. And ’tis a rare sharp 
edge she has to her tongue, also. Then let the 
stranger lad take her, Miitterli. Why should we care ? ” 

“ Ach^ but Petrus, art turned fool .? ” she cried. 
‘The Madl is a good Madl; na matter about her 
tongue. ’Tis na worse than my own and thou’rt 
well used to that. Indeed, I could never ha’ brought 
thee up, without it. Bethink thee, thou silly lad. 
If Nannele goes, then will go also the farm and the 
inn and the Wirth’s florins laid by.” 


6o 


BAS' THERES 


Even as she spoke the woman-heart of her melted, 
while a wistfulness stole into and softened the bright 
blue of her eyes. 

“Sure, I know thee, Petrus. Thou art my own 
lad, the little lad who war my baby. Thou’rt a good 
lad — at heart. A bit wild, Petrus, and lazy. I ha’ 
called thee Lump^ oft and oft ; and I ha’ had reason. 
But the heart of thee isna bad. It couldna be and 
I be thy Mutter. For listen, Petrus. I’m shrewd, 
mayhap, and Pm ‘ near,’ and I manage everybody — 
but then, most folk are such fools. And I like to ha’ 
my own way — but that’s only because my way is the 
best. All the same, I ha’ a good heart in me. 
Sure, that thou knowest ; nit wahr? ” 

When he made no reply, she caught her breath 
and went on : 

“ Tell me true, Petrus. Thou could’st na be aught 
save a good Mann to our Nannele ; naV' 

Petrus laughed coarsely : 

“The Madl can take very good care of herself. 
Mutter. 'Tis her Mann thou should’st pity, instead. 


BAS' THERES 


6i 


If it must be, it must ; but I see na call to hurry.’” 

Her patience now utterly exhausted, Bas’ Theres 
seized him by the shoulders and shook him, vigor- 
ously. 

“Petrus, thou Dummkoph^" she cried. “ Didna I 
tell thee a stranger had come ? He isna one to lag, 
nor to dawdle, nor to say there’s na need of hurry. 
He has a way with him, also, that wins on a Madl ; 
a bit masterful and yet eager. Ach^ do na I know ? ’’ 

As Petrus lifted his heavy head and his dulled eyes 
cleared a little, she added : 

“ He is Hof -Bauer ^ while thou hast naught. And 
thou’rt no longer a child, that the Wirth should be 
tender of thee. Petrus, I tell thee now, ’tis thy one 
chance in life. Thou’rt a fool, if thou let it slip.” 

“ The Wirth’s wealth has come by thy toiling and 
saving. Mutter. It is thine, and mine, by right ; 
that’s the way I look at it. But I’l take Nannele. 
Not that I like her — overmuch — but I’m used to her ; 
and we may as well settle it. I’l ask her to-night. 
Ja, ri give her na peace till I ha’ her word. And 


62 


BAS^ THERES 


between us, Mutterli, we’l drive the stranger back to 
his own country after a wife ; ja ? ” 

As he went stumbling up the stairs to his chamber 
in the loft, Bas’ Theres stepped briskly about the 
kitchen with a feverish flush on her cheeks and an 
unwonted tremor of limb. 

“If this night fail me,” she muttered over and 

over to herself. “ If this night fail me .” 

For, ever since he had lain on her breast, a helpless 
babe, she had pondered in her heart of how one day 
she might “ make it up to him,” that he was nameless. 

The Stube was clean-swept and the heavy pine tables 
had been scrubbed with soap-and-sand until they glis- 
tened. Little by little, as the dancers grew thirsty, 
these would be covered with rows on rows of huge 
earthenware beer-mugs, the amber-hued liquid foam- 
ing and frothing over their rims ; with decanters of 
red Alpine wine ; and with boxes of humpy cheroots, 
or better still, of cut tobacco for every man’s pipe. 
Then while the air was thick with smoke and the 
wine went round, there would be the sound of 


BAS^ THERES 


^3 


laughter and singing, of wassail and jollity, far on 
into the night and to as near break of day as Bas’ 
Theres would permit. 

The Wirth sat at his own table in the window- 
alcove, pipe in mouth, with his chosen cronies about 
him ; the Doctor, the Notary — companions of his 
boyhood — and the Herr Major, a retired Prussian 
officer, who was shuffling the cards for their evening 
pastime ; while the village priest, in rusty cassock 
and of meagre jaw, who had been a boy, too, with 
the others, leaned across the table on his elbows to 
watch the game with the peculiarly intense, yet 
carefully suppressed, interest of one who has re- 
nounced the pomps and vanities of this wicked 
world. 

The long, low-raftered room was filled by village 
boys and girls, young farmers from the hills with 
their rustic sweethearts ; and a few finer grained 
folk from the town. There were even one or two 
stray young gentlemen — two barons and a count — 
seeking a night’s entertainment. 


64 


BAS^ THERES 


Small lamps screwed here and there to the wall> 
cast flickering glimmers of light out into the room 
— flicks and glims that had need to cut through 
dense blocks and masses of shade, for the oak- 
paneled Stube was dark with age and broken by 
doorways hid deep in shadow. 

On a bench in the corner behind the high, white 
stove, whose glazed porcelain tiles cheerily reflected 
such light as there was, lounged a quartette of rustic 
fiddlers, resining their bows and squeaking their 
fiddle-strings in the process of “ tuning up ” — a most 
welcome sound that was instantly echoed in all parts 
of the room by the impatient scraping and stamping 
of heavy hob-nailed shoes. 

The half-moon table had a lamp of its own that 
shone full upon the Wirth’s placid countenance, from 
which every least trace of care, or of dubitation, had 
vanished. Having dropped his personal responsibili- 
ties into abler hands than his own, as had been his 
habit for years, he contentedly gave himself no 
further anxiety. 


BAS* THEBES 


“ Bas’ Theres is sure to bring things through ; and 
to bring ’em through right/’ was his trustful con- 
clusion. “ Why then should I meddle ? I ha’ always 
heard that, ‘ Whoso meddles, is like to mar.’ I’l ha’ 
naught to do with it. Bas’ Theres shall manage 
it all.” 

For long ago the little round Wirth had learned 
the luxury of letting some one else do his thinking 
for him and now he sat smoking, pipe after pipe, as 
tranquilly as though his daughter’s future were no 
possible concern of his. 

Through the long corridor, from the open door of 
the kitchen beyond, streamed a broad band of fire- 
light ; and crossing this at intervals, appeared the 
sturdy figure of Bas’ Theres, as she bustled about 
among the maids who were all robed for the /^sfa in 
their holiday Kirtds and kerchiefs. 

Nannele chanced to be standing in the full glow of 
the fire-light. She was looking her prettiest, with 
her glossy braids fresh-plaited, the loose white 
sleeves of her chemisette pushed above the elbows 


66 


BAS' THERES 


showing her rounded arms, the soft folds of her 
kerchief out-lining the softer curves of her throat ; 
and the silken ribbons that fastened her apron about 
the waist, falling in long fluttering ends to the edge 
of her Kirtd. 

She was not rejoicing in her prettiness, however, 
as a pretty girl ought to rejoice, but was standing, 
instead, with her eyes fixed on the floor and her 
hands hanging idle before her. She did not heed, 
nor even seem to hear the other maids when, wink- 
ing at one another, and giggling, they came jostling 
against her to ask, teasingly : 

“What ails thee, then, Nannerl.? Seek'st thou thy 
future, writ on the floor ? Dost see there the shadow 
of thy Mann^ that tells thee he too is a-coming ? 
Sure, such signs never fail. Hei^ but thou’rt sour. 
Mayhap, he’s na to thy liking. Well, what of that ? 
’Tisna every Madl, can ha’ her pick of a Schatz." 

One, somewhat bolder than the others, pinched her 
bare arm to make her listen, while she whispered in 
mock sympathy : 


BAS* THEBES 


67 

“Na wonder thou’rt sour, Nannele. What is he 
for a Schatz^ to wear loose linen puffs — like nothing-, 
if na like thy chemisette sleeves — at his knees. But 
mayhap, ’tis naught. If ‘the coat doesna make 
the man,’ knee-sleeves needna un-make him. Thou 
must just do thy best and take what the saints send 
thee. Hei, heiT 

But laugh as they might, Nannele only shrugged 
her shoulders and would not open her lips. 

Herr Walter, who had been looking for a hiding 
place, found one in the shadowy hollow of the 
garden doorway, whence, with no fear of being ob- 
served, he could see into the kitchen and into the 
Stube as well. For, as he told himself laughingly, 
“ where he had so many foes, he must needs be on 
the alert ; that now, no one could pass along the 
corridor without his knowing it ; and, at a moment 
when she least suspected it, little Nannele might be 
caught, unawares.” 

Meanwhile, he was pleasing his eyes with the sight 
of her and just beginning to wonder what it could 


68 


BAS' THEBES 


be that troubled her, when Petrus came running' 
down stairs, and crossed the kitchen hurriedly. For 
an instant, the fire-glare gleamed on his handsome 
face, on the red lapels of his jacket, and on the rich 
silver clasps of his belt; the next, he had passed 
on his way to the Stube. 

Half-way there he stopped, glanced back at 
Nannele, wavered as though in doubt and then,, 
apparently, made up his mind it was best to wait. 
Herr Walter could see him as he loitered up and 
down the passage, peering first into the Stube, then 
returning to peep into the kitchen again ; until 
finally, resigning himself with a yawn, he leaned 
back against the wall, where the line of shadow fell 
darkest, and waited with what show of patience he 
could. 

All the while Herr Walter was laughing to him- 
self. 

'' Hei, what is this? Petrus in hiding too; jaf 
Now, what is he after? ’ Tis getting to be as good 
as a play. Good then ! We shall see which of us. 


BAS^ THERES 


6g 


two comes out first-best in the last act. He, the silly 
Dummkoph^ or I.” 

At this moment Bas’ Theres came up from the 
cellar with a great jug of beer in her hands and, 
looking about her for a maid — the instant her step 
was heard they were all as busy as bees — she saw 
Nannele standing alone by the fire, idle and dis- 
traught. 

Hei^ thou Nannerl," she cried. “ Carry this beer 
to the Stube. And be quick about it, Madde. ’ Tis 
for the Wirth’s own table and, thee knows, thy 
father canna bide to wait.” 

Nannele started and looked up ; then taking the 
jug obediently, she poised it half on her hip, half 
within the crook of her elbow and thus weighted, 
moved briskly along the passage. She did not see 
Petrus until he called to her. 

na so fast, Nannele. Na so fast. I ha’ a 
word I must speak with thee, before the dancing 
begins.” 

Do na hinder me now, Petrus,” she remonstrated. 


70 


BAS* THERES 


“ Dost na see, I ha* the heavy jug to carry ? Let me 
pass.” 

To elude him she made a wide curve and would 
have darted by, but he put himself square in front 
of her and stretched out his long arms, blocking her 
way. 

“ When I tell thee to wait, thou’lt wait,” he said. 

Hei then, will I?” she cried, stooping low ta 
effect a swift sudden swoop under his arm. Quick 
as she was, however, he was quicker still and at once 
she found herself held fast, by his rough hands on 
her shoulders. 

“What ails thee, Nannele ? ” he asked. “Come 
now, be a sensible Madl. I ha’ much to say to thee, 
and I’m bound to say it to-night. Let thee go? 
Ach ja^ ri let thee go. But first, thou’lt promise to 
come back to me, and to let me have my say full 
out ; jat ” 

“Thou’st naught to say that I care to hear,” she 
made answer. 

“ But thou — Oh, thou’rt pretty to-night, Nannele,” 


BAS^ THEBES 


71 


he smiled down upon her. “ Prettier than I ha’ ever 
seen thee. Thou must promise me a dance. Nein. 
What am I saying ? I’d na be content with one, nor 
yet with two, nor with three. I have it. Thou 
shalt take me for thy Schatzy Nannele, and dance 
every dance with me.” 

The fiddlers had begun to play and the Stube was 
filling with couples in waltzing whirl ; the women’s 
Kirtels swinging out in wide circles, the men’s hob- 
nailed shoes making dents in the floor. The lights 
flickered gaily into shining eyes and smiling faces, 
upon the silken sheen of apron, or kerchief ; facet 
gleams sparkled in the neck-beads worn by the 
women ; while the black-cock’s plumes in the men’s 
hats, bobbing and bending, threw up grotesque 
shadows to the ceiling. 

Nannele tapped one impatient foot on the floor 
and shifted her heavy jug to the other hip. 

“Dost na hear them at it, Petrus.?” she cried. 
“ Let me go then.” 

“yi? wohly Madl^ I’l let thee go,” he answered, 


72 


BAS' THERES 


tightening his hold on her shoulders. “ But na till 
thou hast told me ; and told me true. Wilt take me 
for thy Sckafz? And wilt thou prove it in there, 
before them all, by dancing every dance with me ? ” 

“ I canna,^’ she faltered, for his manner frightened 
her. “I canna, Petrus. I ha’ already promised — 
one.^’ 

^'■Ja wohl^ to the stranger, nit wahr ? ” he ex- 
claimed in fierce anger. “ Bas’ Theres says he has 
come a-courting thee. But thou shalt send him 
away. I will have it, that thou send him away. 
Dost hear ? ” 

“ Let me go then,” she cried. “ For, if thou must 
know, I— I ha’ already told him, Nein." 

It was less an answer than an out-burst ; born 
partly of pique, but more of her eagerness to escape. 
Herr Walter, clenching his fists in the ardent longing 
to knock Petrus down, yet holding himself back to 
afford his rival fair play, heard what she said and 
a queer little half-smile flitted over his face, 

Bas’ Theres, who had come bustling into the 


BAS' THERES 


73 


passage to see, “ what all this clatter and chatter 
might be about,” heard also — and gasped. For a 
moment, as she turned blind and faint, the two 
figures spun dizzily before her eyes. Then, in sheer 
relief, she could have laughed aloud over her own 
anxiety and her foolish fears that had all been need- 
less. 

^'‘Ach wohly" said Petrus, airily. “ The rest is easy 
then. Thou and I will wed one day; nit wahrt It 
is the will of Bas’ Theres, and I am ready. Thou 
hast but to say the word, Mad/." 

“ Let me pass now, Petrus,” she begged. “ Thee 
knows my father is waiting for his beer.” 

Hei, let him wait,” sang out the young fellow, 
with a confident ring in his voice. “ I want this 
settled right now. Wilt na promise me, Nannele ? 
Say '' /a" and be done with it, that’s a pretty 
Madl. Let the stranger go back over the hills, as he 
came, and marry a maid out of his own country. I 
am good enough for thee, Nannerl ; nit wahrt ” 

“ The stranger may go where he likes and wed 


74 


BAS' THERES 


with whom he will,” cried Nannele, hotly. “He is 
naught to me. But thou, Petrus — what art thou for 
a man, to hold a girl fast when she wants to be free. 
Let me go. I tell thee, let me go ; or I — PI scream.” 

Petrus laughed. 

“ But I like thee so well, Nannele,” he teased. 

“And I like thee na,” she retorted. “I despise 
thee. I hate thee. I wish I might never see thee 
again.” 

“What is he for a Dutnmkoph!" muttered Bas’ 
Theres, from behind the door. 

Ach ! I but like thee the better that thou’rt so 
fierce,” he persisted, still laughing. Loosing one 
hand from her shoulder and slipping it under her chin, 
he forced her lips close up to his face and repeated : 

“ I like thee all the better for it, Madl, and thou’rt 
the prettier for it, too. A very pretty Madl to-night ; 
very. I never ha’ seen thee so pretty before. So-a, 
an thou wilt, PI take a kiss of thee.” 

“Have a care,” she cried. “An thou wilt, or na, 
thou’lt take something else of me, instead.” 


BAS' THERES 


75 


There was a sudden toss of her empty hands in 
the air, a splashing noise, followed by the shattering 
of earthenware ; and Petrus had need of both his 
hands and of his great red cotton handkerchief 
besides, to wipe the blinding beer from his eyes and 
mouth. 

Hety but thou’rt the Teufel's own Madlf he called 
after Nannele, as she sped down the corridor. And 
I — ri be the Teufel's hired man till I ha’ made thee 
pay for this.” 


V 


A Folk-Dance in the Siube 

^ANNELE stopped in the garden doorway to let 
the evening air blow cool upon her. She was 
panting, her face burned, and her hands kept working 
themselves in and out under the gathers of her apron. 

Soft breezes came sighing up from the valley 
below to meet the swift rush of air sweeping down 
from the snow-mantled peaks. And the trysting 
place of the winds could have been no other-where 
than the neighboring tree-tops, for these were bend- 
ing and swaying, whistling and singing ; and, by 
their very abandonment to riotous play, revealing 
their rapturous secret. From higher up the moun- 
tain-side reflected, like an undertone, the deep con- 
tinuous murmur of the pines, whose lonely plaint 
never ceases. For what the genius is among men, 
that is the pine among trees. 


BAS^ THERES 


7T 


Near by sounded the trickle of the fountain ; in the 
cattle-stalls was heard the contented crunch-crunch 
of dumb mouths relishing a sweet morsel of fodder ‘ 
while over all, steadfastly calm, shone the far white 
stars in the clear sea-blue vault of the sky. 

“Thou hast done well, Nannele,” spoke Herr 
Walter, stepping toward her out of the shadows. 

“ Heilige Mutter ! ’’ screamed the girl. 

“ There is naught to fear, Madl^' he said. “ It is 
only I. And do na I tell thee, thou hast done well > 
’Tisna every man can get a jug full of beer at one 
draught. Hei^ hei^ thou hast done better than well.” 

“ What hast heard then ? ” she demanded, in a fine 
flush of shame over her temper. 

everything ; nothing ; what does it matter ?■ 
We ha’ had worries enough for to-night; nit wahr? 
And now is the time to be gay. Listen, Nannele, 
they are tuning for another waltz. Thou did’st prom- 
ise me one dance. Let it be this.” 

“ Na^ na^ I canna dance yet,” she cried. “ I’m too hot 
— too angry, I mean. Mayhap I’l never dance again.’” 


7c? 


MAS* THERES 


Even as she said this, however, she was half- 
nnconsciously tapping one foot in time to the music 
and at last, impatiently reaching out her hand to him, 
she exclaimed : 

“ Come, then. Come. Dost na hear .? We are 
losing it all.” 

Instantly, with his arm around her waist, they 
went waltzing merrily down along the passage as far 
as the Stube door, but at the threshold he held her 
back to whisper : 

“Let us show them the Steiermarkt folk-dance. 
Dost remember it ? And how I taught it to thee, 
that night at the Stern-Wirth’s ? ” 

I remember it well,” she answered, with a 
ringing laugh that cleared the last vestige of ill- 
humour out of her voice. Her cheeks were as fresh 
as the night-air itself and her eyes seemed to have 
caught their shine from the stars. 

Nannele’s part was simple. She had merely to 
spin round and round, exactly like a top, and to go on 
spinning whatever might happen. Taking her place. 


BAS' THERES 


19 


therefore, at the extreme end of the Stube she began 
to whirl ; slowly at first, but slightly, though surely, 
increasing her speed with every turn. One arm was 
curved up over her head ; the other hand caught her 
wide apron by the hem and held it straight out at 
arm’s length like a silken sail. Never stopping, 
never reversing, she went spinning on and on, down 
one side of the long room and up the other — faster, 
faster, faster — with almost the mechanical precision 
of a teetotum, save that she could not help it when 
her eyes would sparkle and her lips would part in 
smiles. 

Herr Walter followed her closely with his hands 
squared on his hips, his head thrown back, and his 
fantastic steps shifting and changing in strict accord 
with Nannele’s whirls. There were trois-temps steps 
forward and back, with a clapping of heel-and-toe on 
the re-echoing floor ; marvellous leaps and springs, 
with flying vaults over any table or chair that 
chanced to be in his way ; then a somersault, or a 
"‘cart-wheel,” so quickly turned, that all anybody 


8o 


jBAS* theres 


could distinguish was an unexpected twinkle of heels 
in the air. 

Occasionally, too, he would break line and dash 
down the centre to twirl an unsuspecting Madchetiy 
and delight in her startled shriek. Or he would sud- 
denly snatch the feathered hat from some bumpkin’s 
head, toss it from hand to hand like a ball, and keep 
his own face sober, amid a chorus of wild guffaws. 

Afterward there would be a quick spring back to 
place, a moment or two of quiet waltz-measure with,^ 
perhaps, a graceful Spanish-like sweep round and 
round his ever spinning partner. It was not until he 
observed Nannele to be growing dizzy and breathless, 
that he brought the whole thing to a finish by a few 
intricate steps worthy of a stage-dancer and as light 
as though his thick-soled tramping boots had been 
the daintiest of ball-room pumps. 

Instinctively, from the first, the company had fallen 
back, crowding against the wall to leave the space 
open. The dignitaries at the Wirth’s table put down 
their cards, turned square about in their chairs and 


BAS' THERES 


8i 


stared, open-mouthed ; while the musicians behind 
the stove, bending double with zeal, scraped their 
squeaking fiddles as they were never scraped before. 
When at last, panting for breath and laughing, Nan- 
nele dropped on a bench to rest, Herr Walter stood 
mopping his forehead amongst a crowd of young 
fellows, who came pressing about him, clapping him 
over the shoulder, and crying out : 

“ Good ! ” “ Good ! ” “ What is this for a dance ? ” 

“And it is ye that ha’ the pretty leg, Mann." “ Wilt 
show us the steps ; ja ? ’’ “ One-two, one-two.’’ “ So 

it goes ; nit wahr ? ” 

“Ye should all ha’ been born Steiermarkt men,’’ he 
answered them, laughing. “ ’Twould ha’ come to ye 
then, by nature.’’ 

“What comes na by nature, comes oft-times by 
grace,” proffered one hobble-de-hoy, with a sly look 
askance at the priest. 

ri teach every man of ye, right willingly,” 
exclaimed Herr Walter. “And ’tis na much to learn. 
Look then.” 


S2 


BAS' THERES 


As he tried over a few of the easier steps every 
man there, and particularly those who had sweet- 
hearts looking on, began to leap and to hop in the 
liveliest imitation ; while the girls themselves eagerly 
took the floor for a spin. Immediately there was a 
shuffling of heels all about him, a swing of Kirteh 
and spreading of apron-sails, a laughing and a chat- 
tering and a calling out : 

“ Look, didna I do it well ? ” A pretty dance, so it 
is.” “Better than the waltz, or the cotillion; nit 
wahrV* wohl, even as our own Tirol is better 
than Frenchy-land. And who says aught else is no 
true Tiroler.” 

One strapping fellow even bussed his sweetheart 
then and there before them all, as he shouted : 

“ A dance is a dance. But I tell ye, lads, naught 
is a pretty dance that na ends with a kiss.” 

Herr Walter had been watching his chance to break 
away and now, in the ensuing out-burst of hilarious 
laughter, he crossed the room to where Nannele was 
sitting and, stooping toward her, whispered in her ear : 


BAS' THERES 


S3 


“ Go again to the garden doorway. I ha’ a word I 
must speak with thee.” 

Na, na," he urged, as she tossed her head, “Go 
now, that’s a good Mad/. And do na be hanging 
back to ask me, for why,” 

Along the passage came Bas’ Theres bearing a 
huge hand-tray of pretzels and beer. While Herr 
Walter stopped to help himself to one of the foaming 
mugs and, throwing back his head, thirstily drained 
it to the very last drop, Nannele slipped by, un- 
observed, and waited in the doorway for him to join 
her. 

The garden was deserted. Sounds of revelry 
floated upon the air, but the winds were at peace. 
Only a low soft murmur came from the distant pines ; 
and the silent stars were an hour lower down in the 
west. As Herr Walter drew Nannele’s arm within 
his own and led her to the far end of the garden 
path, they were quite alone. 

There was a laughing flash in the girl’s eyes and 
dimples played round her mouth. 


^4 


BAS' THEBES 


“ Thy one dance war equal to a thousand,” she 
cried. 

“Then thou owest me a thousand kisses,” he re- 
torted. “A kiss for a dance. ’Tis the custom of 
thy village ; nit wahr ? I wouldna be out of the 
fashion.” 

“Aij!, na^" she protested. “That war only Big 
Seppl with his sweetheart. And they’re to be mar- 
ried next Lady-day.” 

“ What a pretty night it is, Nannele,” he said. “ So 
still ; and so fine. Tell me, which pleases thee best. 
To be in there with the dancers, or — or out here 
alone with me ? 

''AcA, I like better to dance,” she answered, with a 
toss of her head. “ Always, when I hear the music 
and I’m na dancing, I think to myself : ‘ Oh, what a 
waste ! ’ But do na I tell thee, thy dance war equal 
to ten. My head, it goes spinning still. Besides, it 
war na fair. I but promised thee one.” 

“For all that, it is a right pretty dance, Nannele^ 
ja ? ” 


BAS’ THERES 


S3 

^^Jawohl’’ she assented, heartily. “The prettiest 
dance I ha’ ever seen. I believe I could go on a-danc- 
ing and a-spinning — mayhap, forever.” 

“ Good ! That is what I will know. ’ Tis why I 
ha’ brought thee here. I ha’ a favor to ask of thee, 
but first—.” 

He paused a moment, drawing his breath hard 
and short. 

“ Look here, Nannele. Answer me. Is it true 
that the stranger from Steiermarkt may go where he 
likes, and wed — with whom he will } Have a care, 
Nannele.” 

“yi?,” she made answer, slowly. “I ha’ said it 
once before to-night. And I say it again. The 
stranger may wed — with whom— he will.” 

“Good ! Then he weds with thee, Nannele.” 

“ jViz, na’’ she cried. “ It war na so I meant it. 
I— 1~.” 

“Listen, Nannele,” he said, gravely. “ I love thee. 
I ha’ tramped from a-far to tell thee so. And I will 
wed na other Madl^ be she whom she may. To-night, 


BAS^ THERES 


S6 

in the face of thy father and of Bas’ Theres, I shall 
ask thee to be my wife. What then, Liebele ? " 

“ I know na,” she answered, sadly. 

“ Thou knowest na,” he cried. “ Surely, thou 
knowest if thou ha’ the heart to wed with me ; Ja^ 
or Nein ? ” 

She was standing before him with downcast eyes,, 
rolling her bare arms in and out of her apron. 

“ I ha’ been taught,” she demurred, “ that na 
modest Madl lets herself care for a man, ere she be 
wed.” 

So-a, so-a,'' smiled Herr Walter. ^^Achy but 
thou’rt a rare one to tease, little Nannele.” 

Then suddenly he spoke, out-right and somewhat 
sharply. 

“ Give me thine answer,” he said. “ I will na wait 
longer.” 

“ Thou wilt na ? ” she asked. 

“iW/Vz. Iwillna.” 

“ Listen, then,” she said, her voice deepening. “ I 
might like thee— a little— mayhap. But—.” 


BAS* THERES 


S7 

“ ri fash myself over na ‘ Buts,’ ” he cried. 
“ Nannele, I will ha’ thee. Whether thou wilt, 
or na.” 

And Bas’ Theres ? ” she faltered. 

Bas’ Theres. Always Bas’ Theres. What 
ha’ I to do with Bas’ Theres ? It is thee I want, 
Nannele ; thee only. Moreover, it is thee I will 
have.” 


VI 


“iVdJ One of Ye Need Go Against Bas' Theres ” 

'y'HE dance broke late. It was long after midnight 
when Bas’ Theres came bustling into the Stube 
with her kerchief awry and a tell-tale look in her eyes 
as though she had caught herself napping. In her 
hand she held a half-dozen great iron door-keys — 
each one nigh a quarter-yard long — which she swung 
to and fro until they clashed together and rang. 

“ Two o’ the clock,” she cried. “ Hei, do ye hear } 
Two o’ the clock. Be off now, every one of ye. And 
do na ye dilly-dally. Ye silly Mddchen^ what can ye be 
a-thinking of? With the far trudge up over the 
hills, ye’l scarce reach home now till cock-crowing. 

Ach! Ye’l ne’er sneak in at the cattle-stall windows 
this night, I tell ye, afore the fathers catch ye. Hei^ 
hei. Hei^ heif 

It was her little joke — slightly time-worn, per- 


BAS^ THERES 


89 


haps, as was only natural, she having used ‘it for 
years as a goodnight hint; but it was so much a 
part of the evening, that not until it had been spoken 
would the company dream of breaking up. The 
girls received it — girl-fashion — with giggles and 
blushes, while their partners led them out, once 
again, for a final whirl ; but Bas’ Theres had her 
word for them also. 

“ As for ye, my fine lads, will ye never ha’ dancing 
enough ? Be-think ye, there are festa days yet on 
the way. Hei^ do as I bid ye, and let the silly 
maids go.” 

With a mocking curt’sy, and a kindly twinkle in her 
blue eyes, she turned to the one or two stray young 
gentlemen — mere schoolboys, they were — and added : 

^‘And ye, my pretty Barons, mayhap ye mind 
better than old Bas’ Theres what the tutors are like 
to give ye to-morrow. Let us hope it may be 
naught worse than a long wind of Latin or Greek, 
but I’d na willingly stand in ye’r shoes.” 

“ Heilige Maria I ” she exclaimed, rattling the keys. 


BAS' THERES 


go 


“ Once more, I tell ye, glad shall I be to lock ye all 
out. Ja^ the very last one of ye. For when ye are 
gone, *tis then that my day’s work will ha’ just 
begun. Be off with ye then. Be off. Be off.” 

The tired fiddlers roused, loosened the turn- 
ing.pins with a will and slipped the violins into their 
green baize bags. The Wirth threw down his cards 
with a wide-mouthed yawn. The Notary scooped in 
his Kreutzer winnings. The priest glided silently out. 

While the girls were tying their kerchiefs under 
their chins, the men stopped for a last stoup of wine ; 
but at last, each one with an arm around his sweet- 
heart’s waist, they bade Bas’ Theres a noisy good- 
night and went clattering down the garden stair 
and away toward the hills. 

As the Stube cleared, a strange sudden silence pre- 
vailed. Bas’ Theres stepped about here and there,, 
thriftily turning out the lights ; all save one. The 
Wirth rose from his elbow-chair, stretched himself, 
and yawned. 

“ Sure, thou’st filled thy till full up to-night, Bas‘ 


BAS* THERES 


91 


Theres/’ he said, with his slow smile. wahr ? 

wohl,** she answered. “And ha’ needs must 
tap a fresh cask of beer. Dancing makes thirst ; and 
thirst makes good money — for us. What think’st 
thou of that, Herr BriiderliV* 

She was nodding her head toward him and chuck- 
ling, in a gayety unusual to her ; for playfulness in 
Bas’ Theres was like lambent sunlight on a Dolomite 
crag. So it chanced that, unmindful of her steps, 
she stumbled over something on the floor and 
clutched at the nearest table to save herself from 
falling. As her glance fell upon Petrus, lying half 
across the table, with his head slouched on his arms 
in a drunken sleep, her face lowered. It was his 
out-thrust boot-leg over which she had stumbled. 
Now, even in the s’emi- darkness, she could see that 
his face was purple-flushed and that his lips, between 
which the breath drew roughly, hung swollen and 
loose. 

“Where’s the MadlV' she cried, looking hurriedly 
about her. “ Petrus, wake up. Wake up, I say. Can 


^2 


BAS' THERES 


I na shake into thee a bit of common sense ? Where’s 
Nannele ? ” 

Petrus only wrenched out his shoulder from under 
his mother’s hand and, muttering confusedly, slept 
again. 

“ Nannele is here with me,” said Herr Walter, as 
he led the girl in from the garden doorway. “ Herr 
Wirth, she has promised me to make her choice this 
night. Where then is her cousin ? ” 

“ Eh, eh, what ? ” yawned the sleepy Wirth. “ What 
is’t ye say ? ” 

Bas’ Theres broke in angrily. 

“ Choice ? What choice ? Why, Mann^ it is two o’ 
the clock, long past. ’Twar idle talking to-night.” 

Herr Walter stood facing her with Nannele’s hand 
held fast in his. There was deep silence for a 
moment, then slowly the Wirth came shambling along 
the room to take his place at his sister’s side. It was 
so he stood by her always. 

“ What is all this ? ” he asked. “ I — I do na under- 


stand.” 


BAS' THERES 


93 


• “ 'Tis naught. Absolut naught,” cried Bas’ Theres. 

B ruder ^ send the Madl to bed.” 

Nein^" spoke Herr Walter, resolutely. “ The Herr 
Wirth has given his word that the may choose.” 
na^ not so,” denied the Wirth. “I ne’er said 

she war to choose. I said only, that . Ach^ I 

forget what it war that I said.” 

“ That she should na be forced to wed against her 
will,” interposed Herr Walter. “ It is the same.” 

“ Did’st say it, Bruder?" asked Bas' Theres, fixing 
him with the blue steel of her eyes. “ I hadna 
thought it of thee. Thou did’st say it ; ja ? Then, 
thou hast given thy word.” 

In his distress the Wirth’s little indefinite features 
seemed about to lose themselves in a slough of 
vacuity ; but, proudly as though she were an ar- 
moured knight, Bas’ Theres turned to the stranger, 
and flung down her gauntlet before him. 

“Let her choose then,” she cried. “Since my 
brother hath said it, think’st thou I would forbid ? 
Let the Madl choose. Why should she na ? ” 


94 


BAS* THERES 


Half-unconsciously, as though she felt the ache 
of a sob inside it, she put up one hand to her 
throat ; but the voice was instantly clear in which 
she called : 

“ Petrus. ' Come, Petrus. Come and plead for thy 
bride like a man. Hei, Petrus, hast na heard ? The 
stranger will ha’ Nannele choose. Come then. In 
this one little quarter-hour show thyself the true son 
of thy mother.” 

Petrus unfolded his arms and opened his bleared 
eyes to peer about him, but he did not lift his 
head. 

“ The Mad/ may choose to her liking,” he muttered, 
sullenly. “Na one of ye all need think I care.” 

Bas’ Theres reached her strong sinewy hands across 
the table and pulled him to his feet. 

“ Art mad ? ” she cried. 

She would not let him slink away, as he tried to 
do, but pulled him over to where the three were 
waiting and compelled him to stand there with her. 
When he reeled and swayed she stepped a half-step 


BAS' THERES 


95 


iDehind him and set her own shoulder, as a prop, 
against his. 

“ Now speak,” she commanded. 

“ I — I ha’ naught to say,” he reiterated. 

“Then 'tis I who will speak,” she cried. “Herr 
Wirth, my brother, the lad has always thought to 
marry thy Nannele. He’s been brought up to expect 
it. Is ’t fair that now— just to-night when he’s fool- 
drunk with wine — is ’t fair his bride should be stolen 
from him ? What right has this stranger to come 
between ? Speak up, B ruder mein. Stand by thine 
own old sisterli as thou hast stood by her ever. Let 
na the foolish old heart of me be broken quite. List 
to my lad. Or list to the mother who pleads for 
him. Let na this cruel thing be. Mein Bruder. Mein 
B ruder 

Her cry rang out in a passionate wail that beat 
and throbbed upon the silence of the room. All the 
long-pent, heart-held anguish of her life was in it ; 
anguish so alive that even the echoes, catching up 
the cry, divined it, and in their mocking play tossed 


^6 


BAS* THERES 


it wailing back to her. It was not until the throb of 
it died quite away that Herr Walter could trust him- 
self to speak.” 

“ And I,” he said at last. “ I ha’ told thy daughter 
that I love her, Herr Wirth. Also, ’tis na to-night 
that she sees her cousin for the first time. Surely* 
the Madl must know her own mind. Then let her 
choose.” 

“ Ai?, whimpered the Wirth. “ I do na like it. 

I care naught for Petrus, the Lutnp, But ” 

He stopped, pulled himself together and said 
firmly: ^^Nein! I willna go against Bas’ Theres.” 

At this Petrus lifted his head and threw off his 
drunken haze. Before any of them were aware, he 
had sprung forward and seized the girl. 

dost hear? Thou’rt mine. Thou, and all 
that thou hast. Thy father hath said it. Thou’st 
been pledged to me all our lives long ; nit wahr t 
Think ’t then, I would let thee go ? Na^ na^ I’m na 
such a fool. Hold thy tongue, Madl. Thou’rt mine.” 

Bas’ Theres stood rigid ; and a look of slow cold 


BAS* THERES 


97 


horror came creepingf into the keen eyes from which 
the scales were falling. But in Herr Walter’s eyes 
was a tiger-gleam. 

“ Unhand the Madl** he cried. 

Instantly Petrus felt himself grappled from behind 
and pinioned. That clutch on his wrists palsied 
them. Perforce, his hold of the girl loosed. Nannele 
sprang free, and the two men closed together. 

Though fierce enough the tussle was a short one. 
At his best Petrus was no match for the well-knit 
Alpinist who, by many a perilous glacier-climb, had 
trained himself to suppleness of joint and steadi- 
ness of nerve. Now, in his drunken impotency, the 
foolish lad was quickly mastered and there before 
them all — before the old man who sheltered him, 
before the girl who had scorned him, before the 
mother whom he shamed — there, in the stranger’s 
powerful unpitying grip, he was shaking to and fro 
like a flimsy rag. 

Goaded at last to utter savagery he stole one 
treacherous hand to his hip. The mother-eyes 


pc? 


BAS' T HERBS 


flashed fire. There was a swift upward sweep of his 
arm, met by a forward thrust of hers ; there was the 
gleam of metal ; a shriek from the frightened girl ; 
then, the naked blade whizzed, and struck — only on 
a bunch of door-keys held in those mother-hands, 
falling thence to the floor. 

“ Petrus,” cried Bas’ Theres, dropping the keys 
with a clang. 

“ Petrus. Art — thou — my — son ? ” 

Step by step, as he went backing down the long slow 
length of the room and sank to a seat on the wall- 
bench, sobered and still, her eyes followed him. And 
when once again she turned to where the Wirth was 
standing — stock-still, like a block of stone, with 
Nannele sobbing, and clinging to him — years seemed 
to have gone over her head, her face was ashen, her 
eyes were crazed, and the feebleness of age was upon 
her. 

“ Hast seen ?” she asked, in a low hoarse whisper. 
“ Bruder^ hast seen ? Tell me, war it true ? May- 
hap I war dreaming. Oh, I hope I war only dream- 


£AS^ THERES 


99 


ing. It seems so long ago ; so long . Na ? Did’st 

say, Na ? Then thou hast seen it also. Tell me, 
E ruder,*' 

She waited, but no one of them answered her. 
The Wirth could not. And Herr Walter — well, Herr 
Walter was mentally lashing himself. 

“ I might ha’ let go of him sooner," was his thought. 

As she turned her eager gaze from one to another, 
waiting still, she was shaking from head to foot. A 
shiver ran through her sturdy frame, her teeth chat- 
tered ; and when she tried to speak, as she did try 
once or twice, no words would come. But all at 
once by an effort of will she recovered herself, the 
steady light came back to her eyes and the steadfast 
strength to her heart. 

“ Give me thy hand, Nannele," she said. " And 
thou also, Herr Stranger." 

Silently each stretched out a hand to her and for a 
moment she held them close and still ; then she laid 
them together, the woman’s hand within the man’s, 
and folded them both in her own. 

L«fCw 


lOO 


BAS' THERES 


Na one of ye need go against Bas’ Theres,” she 
said, with a brave bright smile. “ Look, it is I who 
will choose. Herr Stranger, the Madl — is — thine.” 

To every soul in its passage through the world is 
proffered one moment of supreme renunciation ; a 
gift and yet a touchstone. 

This was hers. She had neither missed of it, nor 
failed. Nevertheless, because she was only a poor, 
heart-broken woman, like any other on whom life 
crowds hard, her courage snapped, the smile broke 
into a choking sob and, flinging away from them all, 
she threw herself down at the nearest table, clasped 
her arms over her head and sat dumbly rocking 
back and forth ; back and forth. Only the heaving 
of her stalwart shoulders betokened the unspent 
force of the inner storm. 

Herr Walter drew in his breath sharply. 

“If ’twar aught else than to give up Nannele,” 
he said, “ I would do it for thee, Bas’ Theres.” 

“ I’m a fool,” she sorrowed, with her face buried in 
her hands. “ I ha’ been a fool always. And I ha’ 


BAS' THERES 


lOI 


spoilt my life. Brother, I love the Madl. I wouldna 
see a harm come to her. But I ha’ loved my own 
lad, too. Ach ja^ my — own — little — lad. Him, I ha’ 
loved best of all.” 

Here she turned on them all, fiercely. 

Mayhap, too, ye think I ha’ loved the long hard 
days of toil and the nights of planning. Mayhap ye 
think I ha’ never longed for an easier life. Nor 
dreamed of how sweet it must be, to be cared for, 
as other women are ; to be honored and loved and — 
and all that. Mayhap ye think I’m na woman-like at 
all, but only a man in a Kirtel^ because I’m strong, 
and I do na whine. Well then, let me tell ye true. 
It may be news to ye. If so be as in all this wide 
world there war such a one for me, I would lean 
my old gray head on a loving heart, and thank God. 
But I see now, I ha’ been a fool always. And I ha’ 
spoilt my life.” 

In a moment Nannele’s arms were around her neck. 

Nay nay Bas’ Theres,” she cried. “ Dear old Bas’ 
Theres. Thy life isna spoilt. It couldna be. I ha’ 


102 


BAS* THERES 


never seen it so clear before, but I see it now. 
Thou’st been a-loving us all and forgetting to love 
thyself. Ach then, we shall but love thee the more 
and the better. Thou’lt see. Thou’lt see.” 

All this time Petrus was slouching on the wall- 
bench in sloven mood ; half-repentant, it might be, 
yet sullen. Now he lifted his head and stared. 
Never before, throughout all his young life, had he 
seen Bas’ Theres give way. 

Pitifully enough, the very intensity of her self- 
devotion had worked against her ; blinding him, as 
it blinded all who were nearest her. They never 
dreamed that she was continually self-sacrificing her- 
self. If they had thought about it at all, they 
would have said she was doing what she liked to 
do, and simply having her own way. 

Petrus started to his feet and rushed to her side 
with a broken cry : 

Mutter*' he said, “ I ha’ been a bad son to thee. 
But I didna know. I— I never saw thee cry before. 
I thought my heart would burst, just now, when I 


BAS* THEBES 


103 


saw thee cry. Mayhap, after what ye ha’ seen, na one 
of ye all can believe me ; but — but I’l be a w^z«-son 
to thee from this night forth, Mutter** 

Surely her cup was almost full. It filled to the 
brim and ran over when the Wirth went to her and, 
laying both his pudgy hands on her shoulders, said : 

“ Bas’ Theres, thee mustna be a-thinking I would 
send thy lad adrift. Na, na, he shall bide on here at 
the old inn just the same. There’s enough and to 
spare for me, and for thee, and for — him.” 

Over the poor worn furrowed face tears were 
streaming. But through the tears, there beamed on 
them now the brave bright sunshiny smile which 
was her birthright. 

“ I’m liking it that ye’re all a-loving me,” she 
said. “ And ye must na mind it that I’m a-laughing 
and a-crying both together. Didna I just tell ye, I 
ha’ always been a fool.” 


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BAS’ THERES 


A 

NARRATIVE-DRAMA 
OF TIROL 


BY 

JEAN PORTER RUDD 


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